"I knew you as far off as I could see you — I said to myself, 'That's Mr. Landholm!' I am very glad to see you, sir. You've just got here?"
"This morning. But what right have I to be expected?"
"O we knew you were coming. Your room's ready for you — empty and waiting, and we've been waiting and lonesome too, ever since Mr. William went away. How is Mr. William, Mr. Landholm?"
"Well, sir, and full of kindly remembrances of you."
"Ah, he's not forgotten here," said Mr. Inchbald. "He won't be forgotten anywhere. Here's my sister, Mr. Landholm, — my sister, Mrs. Nettley. — Now, my dear sir, before we sit down, tell me, — you haven't any other place to stay?"
"I have not, Mr. Inchbald, indeed."
"Then come up and see what we have to give you, before we strike a bargain. Doll — won't you give us a cup of tea by the time we come down? Mr. Landholm will be the better of the refreshment. You have had a tiresome journey this weather, Mr. Landholm?"
As they mounted the stairs he listened to Winthrop's account of his illness, and looked at him when they got to the top, with a grave face of concern it was pleasant to meet. They had come up to the very top; the house was a small and insignificant wooden one, of two stories.
"This is your room," said Mr. Inchbald, opening the door of the front attic, — "this is the room your brother had; it's not much, and there's not much in it; but now my dear friend, till you find something better, will you keep possession of it? and give us the pleasure of having you? — and one thing more, will you speak of pay when you are perfectly at leisure to think of it, and not before, or never, just as it happens; — will you?"
"I'll take you at your word, sir; and you shall take me at mine, when the time comes."